A Girl,

     Her soul a deep-wave pearl

Dim, lucent of all lovely mysteries;

     A face flowered for heart’s ease,

     A brow’s grace soft as seas

     Seen through faint forest-trees:

     A mouth, the lips apart,

Like aspen-leaflets trembling in the breeze

     From her tempestuous heart.

     Such: and our souls so knit,

     I leave a page half-writ —

           The work begun

Will be to heaven’s conception done,

           If she come to it.

by Michael Fild